


Paper Chase

by giraffewithstripes



Category: Doctor Who, Sarah Jane Adventures, Sherlock - Fandom, Supernatural, Superwholock - Fandom
Genre: Apocalypse, Episode: s05e18 Point of No Return, M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-05-16
Updated: 2013-05-27
Packaged: 2017-12-12 01:15:20
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 9
Words: 16,230
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/805442
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/giraffewithstripes/pseuds/giraffewithstripes
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It is the apocalypse and with Dean wanting to say yes to becoming Michael's vessel, the search for God having failed, Castiel and Sam have become desperate, going to the length of contacting Sherlock, who is under the angels' watch to find the Doctor.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. In the Absence of pie, visit a madman

Dean, awoke groggy, from having had his lights punched out by a furious angel, infected with the notion that this stupid cause was righteous and that there was still hope that somehow he, Sam and Castiel could "save the world." As if, it seemed to Dean, the two brothers had mucked up the balance of things in the first place. You don't employ the man who broke the universe to fix it. You get a more competent man to do the job. And Dean, well, Dean was not that man. He blinked, as he removed a soggy towel from his head. Bobby was passed out in his wheelchair, across the room from him. But Dean could tell this was obviously not his handiwork. Even if Bobby had been drunk, it was too sloppy. He was a hundred percent sure it'd been done by an angel who despite until recently had the ability to heal people, had no idea how to "heal" people. His forehead was actually wet, as he touched his head to investigate the damage. And swollen, apparently. Oh Gah -  
He grimaced, as he peeled of a wet plaster from his face, tab half removed. He hoped that was all that Castiel has stuck to his face. He made a silent decision to stay away from mirrors. It'd save him a few internalised tears.

Getting up was an effort, not able to be accomplished without some teeth grinding, and a slight exhalation through his teeth as his body registered its soreness, wanting to make its injuries crystal clear to Dean. As if he didn't know already. Getting beaten up by his best friend was going to scar your memory, he didn't need pain as a brutal reminder. "Cas?" He rasped, but the angel now seemed to be gone. He did a quick sweep of the room, almost expecting the angel to suddenly appear, expression sullen, arms crossed in disapproval, maybe another punch in the face, if Cas was really ticked off. That angel needed to learn the meaning of "subtle". He was worse than Dean at dealing with emotions, and that was saying something.

His eyes spotted a bottle of beer on the rickety table by the sofa he'd crashed on instead. Well, Castiel certainly knew something about wounds. He positioned himself as comfortably as possible, reaching for the bottle, groaning as he tugged on his pair of handcuffs. They'd actually cuffed him. Figures. Dean rolled his eyes, realising that the bottle was empty. Of course. What a brilliant way for Castiel to express anger. His lips pursed, as he noticed a note, clinging to the bottom, damp from the bottle's condensation.

Dean snorted, as he skimmed over Castiel's calligraphy. He had neat handwriting, only to be expected of the angel. Dean would bet good money that before Castiel had "gripped him tight and raised him from perdition" he'd been the "goody two shoes" in heaven that didn't know what fun meant.

~:~

Dean,

I've gone to find the Doctor, the last time Lord, seeing as the search for God has failed, and despite everything I've done for you, you are going to fail me too. I have fallen for you to become this...abomination, useless and unable to help and you sulk and talk about how all our efforts are wasted.

When I come back with information on the Doctor's whereabouts, keep your opinions to yourself, because much like you the Doctor is done with being alone, and has been left by himself for too long. You think you have it hard Dean? Try having a whole universe to deal with for eternity, because that's what he has to go through, that's what I have to go through. Every day Dean. My own family has rejected me. I have killed my brothers -

This is the apocalypse Dean. There isn't time for your tantrums, it is your duty to solve this problem. We all travel on the cusp on knives Dean, your decision is permanent.

Yours Cas,  
(I took some of the pie substance out of your "fridge". It was quite succulent.)

~:~

Upon reading the note, the words "That son of a –" Escaped Dean's lips. Of all the in sufferable things that Cas could have done –

This was betrayal of the most abominable kind. "What's the point of raising me from "perdition" if you're going to take my friggin' pie!" Dean exclaimed automatically, loud enough for Sam to hear from the next room. "You're up..." He said slowly, before raising his eyebrows, as he processed what Dean had said. " Are you…talking to yourself?"

"Be serious Sam. Castiel stole my pie, the whole frickin' thing, I bet."

"Well, what did Cas say, is he here?" Sam asked, gauging his surroundings, posture tense, as if expecting Cas to appear up close and personal. "Has he come back from finding the Doctor?"

Dean flushed slightly, not wanting to elaborate beyond what was necessary. That letter was private. It didn't have anything to do with Sam. "He was...just giving a little pep talk." Dean said, grinding his teeth, not wanting to mention…everything else that the letter had contained.

Dean was just…tired. Tired of the apocalypse. And Castiel had to take the one thing that Dean could've looked forward to this morning, a pie. And that pie had meant a lot in his sucky world. He was sick of everything. All that they did, was useless, even now he could see Sam, slipping back into his anger every time he fought. And each time…he looked at him, he could see Sam saying yes to being Lucifer's vessel. And it was breaking him.

They couldn't save anyone. More explicitly, Dean couldn't save anyone. He was too weak, too broken. Again he thought back to Lisa and Ben. He wanted that for so much. But he couldn't have it. It was an impossible dream. His destiny was being carved out for him, and there was no way he could avoid it. You can't escape angels and demons forever. And the kid, Adam - there was no way in hell that Dean was letting that kid take his place as Michael's vessel. His life was in his hands.  
"I mean look at this Sam," Dean carried on, wanting to fume a bit more. "First he beats me up, and then he steals my pie. That's a hate crime."

"Can you blame him?" Sam asked, suddenly serious. "I mean he fell for us Dean, gone against all of heaven - his family and you were going to say yes to Michael." Sam swallowed, choosing his words carefully, seeing for once that Dean was actually listening to him. "Just, I know it's a long shot but please, give this a chance, I believe in you Dean -" .

Dean eyes flickered to Sam's face, sadly surprised by his transparent honesty. "But I don't believe in you Sam. After everything you've done, Ruby, the demon blood -" He shook his head. "I'm sorry."  
Sam nodded, keeping his composure, "I know, but I'm going to prove myself to you."  
Dean was unable to answer, swallowing. Sam knew his whole speech already. He had nothing more to say. And thankfully he didn't need to as Cas appeared amongst them. The moment of gratefulness was somewhat short-lived for Dean. Seeing the man who'd just beaten you up, eating your hard-earned pie was going to do things to you. But he was unable to word his anger, without humiliating himself, because who gets mad over something as petty as pie? And if he brought something as stupid as that up, who knew what else was going to spill off of his stupid tongue - too late to be snatched back. Dean didn't do "feelings". Dean inhaled food, swallowed beer and picked up women instead. And it seemed to work just fine.

So he resigned himself to folding his arms, hoping to retain a sense of dignity, despite his damaged pride, and his swollen, bruised face. Sam had to hide a small smile, slightly amused, thinking that the two looked like an stubborn married couple the way that they were carrying on.

"I still can't find him."

"Maybe he's –"

Castiel glared back at Sam, irritated. "He's a time traveller who's wiped himself off the map entirely. Everyone believes him to be dead. He's been forgotten from history." He paused, frowning, cocking his head slightly, his eyes narrowing. "Did I offend you Dean? I thought I positioned myself at a polite social distance but if you -"

"Just continue Cas. It's "fine"." He enunciated, a blush creeping up his neck, realising too late that Castiel had said that on purpose, to mock him.

"Is that sarcasm? You seem to be annoyed." He performed another exaggerated head tilt, visibly slurring his words, a twisted caricature of himself. Another bite was taken out of the pie. "Would you like some pie Sam?" The angel asked, offering Sam a chunk of the crumbly mush. Dean glared at Sam, his expression saying if you dare to get involved I swear I will play "Heat of the Moment" on repeat in the impala until your ears bleed, and then play it some more for good measure.  
"No thanks Cas." Sam choked, Dean fuming as he saw Sam's red face, biting back laughter, apocalypse or not, drunken Castiel trying to get back at Dean was hilarious.

Either way, Castiel decided it was time to move the conversation onto more mature matters. "There are parts of history that just don't seem to exist anymore, like the Cybermen and the Santaurans."

"They sound funny." Dean said snidely, grabbing at the opportunity to slight Sam and Castiel's new plan.

Castiel bristled, his jaw clenching, as Dean grated on Castiel's worn thin nerves. "This isn't a joke Dean. They almost gassed the whole planet. And they would have succeeded if it wasn't for the doctor."

"Well, he isn't here now is he?"

pCastiel licked his fingers, from all traces of the pie. "No, but I think if I gave up what little grace I had left, it could emit a large enough dose of radiation to draw his Tardis' attention, since finding "God" has failed."

"What would happen to you?" Dean asked, all bitterness disappearing, as he stared at the angel.

"Does it even matter?" Castiel spat, his voice a low growl. "It's all we've got and with your mind set at the moment, I don't want to be here when you give yourself over to Michael and destroy half the planet. Besides, I can hardly see how I've been of much use at the moment."

"Don't talk like that Castiel." Bobby snapped, suddenly awake, catching them off guard, as he glared at the three of them. "You have no right to talk like that idjit. Not while I'm in the room."

"Bobby –"

"Don't you dare Dean; I'm just as disappointed in you as I am in him. Do you want to kill me, with all of you sacrificing yourselves every five minutes! Do you think it's fair on me?"

"I'm sorry, Bobby."

"You should be. Now that's not an option Cas, what else have we got?"  
"It's all we have got." Castiel stated, meeting Bobby's disgruntled gaze.  
"Castiel might be right." Sam said quietly, only to be interrupted by Dean.  
"Don't you dare pick sides!" Dean snapped. "No one is falling or dying or whatever, I don't care. We'll keep an eye out. He'll show up eventually. You said before that Amy and Rory Pond were his part time companions, do you know where they are?"  
"Dead. I found their gravestones in a cemetery." Castiel sighed. "There's Torchwood, but they're occupied…what with it being the apocalypse, and the demons wanting some…more advanced technology."

"Is there anyone else?" Dean said, frustrated with his brother, the angel and the whole freaking apocalypse. He was sick of it all. But he couldn't let them Cas do something this stupid. Wasn't it ever enough? He wished he could just take a day off, ride in the impala, with Sam and Castiel to the old shack that he'd taken Sam to for a long weekend, without his dad knowing. They wouldn't even need to do anything. They could just watch TV, or do something stupid to pass the time. Castiel was entertainment enough.

He blinked, his eyes slightly hazy, as Castiel's low voice brought him back into focus."There is a man who goes by the name of Sherlock Holmes, who apparently has been able to find the Doctor in the past. I'd rather not involve him, as he is on Zachariah's radar, and of course we can't afford the angels finding out where we've hidden Adam."

"Why's he on their radar?"

"He knows about the prophecy, angels, demons…the apocalypse. For a human who's not a hunter he is very well informed…"

"Okay, let's go." Sam said his eyes flicking to Dean, a silent plea as he moved to unfasten his handcuffs.  
Dean flinched away, rubbing his wrists. "I'm not helping." He said resolutely. "Not while the angels are looking for Adam."  
"I've got him in the panic room, and I'll be keeping an eye on him." Bobby said wheeling over to Dean. "Don't you go thinking you can run off while you're out there, idjit."

Castiel outstretched his hands to both of their shoulders before Dean could protest.

pBobby's shack was gone, replaced by an unfamiliar and empty, dark street. They faced an apartment with an oak door, presumably in London, judging from the black taxicabs and the rain. "It has an angel sigil," Castiel explained, glancing to the red symbol upon the door. "I won't be able to get inside."/p

pDean and Sam exchanged a glance, Sam biting his lips, as Dean shrugged, looking bored. Sam was well aware at this point in time, Dean was a major flight risk, and with Castiel unable to keep an eye on him, he might run off. It'd be too easy for him to get lost in London and tip off Zachariah to his location. Dean wasn't thinking straight.

"That's okay Cas," Sam said quietly before knocking.

The door was answered immediately: a man with dark, erratic hair and piercing eyes. Even though he was smaller than both Dean and Sam, his intimidating stare seemed to compensate for the height difference. "Hunters." He said appraising them. "The Winchesters, to be exact I presume, and you have your little fallen angel, Castiel?" Sherlock said nodding to Cas, who tipped his head in greeting.

"It's good to finally see you Sherlock."

"It'd be nice if you took your sigil down so we could all talk and get this over with." Dean stated, crossing his arms, his voice dripping sarcasm. "How do we know you're not a demon?"

The man retaliated with grace, gesturing to the salt barrier that separated them, lining the doorway. "Entertain me. And try to make it interesting. Stick to the facts. You have no idea how many pointless details I have to sift through."

"May we come in or do we have to stand outside like salesman?" Dean quipped. "Cas, you didn't mention how much of an asshole this guy is."

"It crossed my mind. Thought it'd be better not to mention it."

"Yes, please do keep your idiocy to yourself, I'd rather you not taint the air." Sherlock rubbed the red from his door, motioning for them to come inside. "Would you like some tea?"

"How British of you, but I think I'll stick to beer and business."

"I'll have some," Sam smiled, nudging Dean. "Be polite."

"I did not understand. Why is tea considered British?" Castiel frowned, as he awkwardly sat in a cluttered armchair, moving aside a pile of papers, and a glass jar filled with dead crickets. The whole place was a peculiar arrangement of both order and chaos. Dean thought he saw an eyeball in a jar, when Sherlock opened the fridge for some milk, the kettle softly hissing. "Great," He whispered, looking about him, at the microscope, and the blood samples. A corner of the rug curled, showing a Devil's Trap. "Who is this guy?" Dean hissed to Castiel.  
"Consulting Detective, the only one in the world."Sherlock answered for him, handing Sam and Castiel a cup of tea.

"And what is that may I ask? I don't mean to rain on your parade but that sounds made up."

Sherlock grimaced. "I'm the one that police go to when they are out of ideas."

"If you say so."

"He's right about the police force being hopeless. You know how clueless they are about monsters." Sam interjected, giving Dean the look that told him to shut up and let him do the talking. Dean reflexively turned to Cas, hoping for a shared look of sympathy, but he too busy staring at a jar of crickets, for once his angelic eyes filled with wonder, rather than the usual benign slate he seemed to wear. Dean rolled his eyes, both at Cas and the asshole's patronising response. "Yes listen to your brother Dean, not that you do much anyway, given your addiction to food, sex and porn to fill your self-hating hole, cover your abandonment issues and your inability to trust anyone, even yourself anymore. You doubt your abilities."  
Dean actually laughed, in disbelief, as if this analysis would impress him. "You think that you're –"

"You are in a co-dependent relationship with your brother, and you are seriously considering becoming a vessel because you feel inept to the task of "saving the world", you're currently in an argument with your angel, and your brother, is a pent up anger time bomb waiting to explode, who strangely still has placed some trust in you. Enough to have you not going out in public without a leash."

"You think you're so clever, well, I've got no time for your therapy. Can you find the doctor or not?"

"Yes. Easily." Sherlock lit a cigarette. "Granted, he'd most likely be unable to help you… He isn't in the mood for apocalypse saving at the moment, last time I got in contact with him."

"How do you know…?"

"You're not the only people trying to find the doctor."

"Who else?"

Sherlock smirked. "I am sworn to secrecy."

"Now listen, I don't like you. But as much as I want to punch you in the face, I'm not because we need you to put us in contact with the Doctor so we can all go home. How soon can you do it?"

"Three hours."

"What do you want in return?" Castiel asked.

"I don't charge for my work, I do it largely based on interest…and your situation is interesting…" Sherlock replied, drumming his fingers, as he took a drag from his cigarette. He paused. "But I'd like to examine the Colt."

"Are you serious?" Sam interrupted, "That thing can kill almost anything, why would we give it to you?"

"Because if you've come to me, I'm all you've got. Just a quick examination." Sam reached into his pocket, but Sherlock repeated. "The real gun."

Dean sighed, passing it to him. He turned it over in his hand before handing it back to him. "Thank you."

"Now, for the most part all information on the Doctor has been destroyed, all apart from one computer, called Mr. Smith."

"Mr. Smith?" Dean paused. "That sounds like a terrible James Bond movie character."

"Dean, one of your aliases is Dean Smith – "

Castiel was silenced by a withering glare, looking down to give a poignant, exasperated stare as his cup of tea in his hands. Dean almost felt sorry for him. Then he remembered Castiel stealing Dean's pie just because he was mad at him. That helped to settle matters.

"He's an alien life form, and despite the fact he's a computer, he has an organic memory." Sherlock informed them, as he retrieved his laptop from a hidden drawer, underneath the cluttered coffee table. "I'd rather use my phone, but this is more delicate."

"So you're going to hack an alien supercomputer?"

"Yes. Now leave. I need to work."

"But how do we know that you're not –"

"You were willing to give me the Colt are we really going to dispute my likelihood of turning traitor? You gave me a job, now let me get it done and get out. Give me your number and I'll text you when I'm done."

Sam scrambled around for a pen, sliding him a card onto the top of his coffee table, unusually clean compared to the rest of the chaos. There was a kind of order, but he was yet to figure it out.

Sherlock took another drag from his cigarette, now absorbed entirely in his work of weaving his way into the brain of Mr. Smith. He'd rather do that than talk to an overly concerned Sarah Jane Smith. The Doctor was supposed to be dead. No need to tip off a third party.


	2. Please do knock next time Mr Holmes

The three of them stood awkwardly in the street, after Sherlock had shooed them off, taken up entirely by his work. It was the worst case of workaholic Dean had ever seen. He wasn't even sure Castiel, let alone Sam could top such blankness to the rest of the world, as Sherlock was able to achieve, in a few moments. It was...almost scary and secretly Dean debated as to whether or not Sherlock was just a machine. He certainly acted like one. 

"What're we supposed to do?" Sam asked. "We're stuck here, unless you want to zap us someplace." 

"We could just wait here." Castiel suggested. Of course, Dean thought to himself, that the celestial being would suggest that. 

"For three hours?! Look, there's a café over there, and they probably serve pie, and I'd love me some pie since Castiel ate all of mine."

Castiel face was stony as he said. "You never said it was yours." 

"You don't even eat!"

"Ever since famine I've had a taste for food." Dean watched Cas closely, detecting a faint trace of regret, in his now unsure features. And for now, that was enough. There were more important things on their plates. "Look," Dean smirked, gesturing towards the door with the smudged sigil he asked "What're we going to do about him? Everything about him suggests unstable nutcase."

"That's not much of a change from you Dean." Castiel pointed out. Dean inhaled, closing his eyes, trying to make sure that he didn't punch the angel in the face, because he knew that he'd lose the fight. "Let's just call Bobby and tell him what's going on," Sam said placently, trying to soothe Dean's bubbling anger, drawing out his phone. "We didn't give him much notice." He scrolled through his contact list, pressing call.

"Bobby. We found Sherlock, we should have an idea where the doctor is in three hours. How's Adam?"

"As stubborn as ever. I'm keeping a close eye on him. Well, since you're in the area, I've managed to find reports of something strange."

"Another omen?"

"What's he saying?" Dean whispered.

"Shut up Dean," Sam hissed, before putting his ear back to the phone. Castiel stood patiently, waiting for the conversation to finish, unconsciously leaning towards Dean.

"Cas, do you mind? Personal space."

"Sorry Dean." Castiel apologised, trying to hide a small smile, a slight twitch of the lips. Dean swallowed, and tried not to remember how Cas had taunted him earlier. 

"Could you tell those idjits to shut up?" Bobby's voice bristled. "I don't think it's an omen. You said God was walking the earth right?"

"Yes that's what Joshua said,"

"Well, in Cardiff, there was a whole intensive care unit completely cured of their diseases, and for a one mile radius, there's been no reports of deaths or anything for months. Demons have been surrounding the immediate area."

"So you think it might be God?"

"That or perhaps a rebellious angel. I think you boys should check it out while you're there, once you find out where the Doctor is."

"Thanks Bobby," Sam flipped the phone shut before quickly explaining to Castiel and Dean. "What'd you think Castiel,? Do you think it could be God?"

"God is gone, as Joshua said. I don't know what it could be." Castiel said brusquely. "Maybe the angels are planning something."

"Well," Dean said, as he shook his empty flask, "Seeing as Cas, here zapped us here without any warning, I have no alcohol left, so I'm going find a bar and have a couple of beers, and just forget all of this for a couple of hours."

"I'm with you." 

"Guys, please," Sam said following behind them, as they trooped around for a bar. "Can't we just figure out a plan of action –"

"That plan of action is beer." Dean grinned.

"You're proving Sherlock's point by going in there."

"Shut up Sam. I can drink when I want, but I'm sure my buddy Cas here will happily drink with me, and have a toast to our deadbeat dads."

"I don't see how that is a cause of celebration, but yes I will drink with you, seeing as you can't be trusted at the moment." Castiel deadpanned, as he withdrew his own flask of whatever spirit he was drinking and swallowed it down. Dean flinched away from his gaze, bravado gone, as his fingers reflexively brushed against his swollen jaw. His voice was flat, subdued, "I'm still on flight risk patrol?"

"You think?!" Sam interceded. "You ran off without telling us, if it weren't for Castiel, you'd be Michael's vessel right now!"

 

As Sherlock began to bridge a connection to the Tardis, using Mr Smith, his screen went black, and he was interrupted by an unfamiliar voice . "May I ask why you are hacking into my communications system?"

"You can communicate with the Tardis correct?" Sherlock said into the monitor.

"The doctor is dead." The voice replied. 

"We both know that what they say isn't true, he's also been deleted from history."

"Who are you?" 

"Sherlock Holmes. Consulting Detective."

"Scanning…" the voice said, as it processed all information on Sherlock Holmes. "You have quite the history, Sherlock Holmes. It seems that you have been a correspondent with Sarah Jane. She commissioned you to find the Doctor two months ago."

"I am aware, Mr. Smith."

"And why do you want to get into contact with the Doctor, if that's what you were really doing?"

"The apocalypse. I thought that'd be reason enough."

"Perhaps I should refer you to Sarah Jane Smith and explain the situation."

"I'm respecting the Doctor's wishes. But this is important. I need you to make a connection to the Tardis."

"I can't guarantee my systems will be able to maintain such a connection."

"You're the most powerful computer in the world, if anything can do it you can."

"I'm under the impression that you are perfectly capable of finding the doctor yourself."

"The last time I found him I was fortunate. I can't leave this to chance."

"Might I suggest I leave you his phone number?"

Digits flashed across the screen. "I'm not able to sustain a strong connection, as the Tardis has a safe wall that is preventing me from doing so, but I was able to get a hold of his number." Sherlock could almost detect a resigned sigh in Mr Smith's robotic voice. "Please do knock next time Mr. Holmes. It makes it easier for the both of us, and I'm not under the impression that I'm being hacked by something that could destroy the whole planet."

"Thank you Mr. Smith." He said, furiously down the number on a nearby post it note, grubby at the edges from Sherlock's blackened fingers. He'd been experimenting with charcoal residues on clothes earlier, comparing them to blood and coffee stains. 

"You are welcome, Mr. Holmes," the mysterious voice replied, before Sherlock's screen returned back to the normal blank screensaver. Sherlock smiled to himself, as he examined the digits that would lead the Winchesters to the Doctor. He was half an hour ahead of schedule, and this amused him greatly. He took a needle and prepared himself an injection of cocaine. It was the apocalypse, and he'd certainly earned it. The loss of a goal made everything incredibly dreary, and the dilute solution would tie him over, until the Winchesters returned.


	3. A Broken Angel

Castiel froze as they walked down the street, a vestige of black and grey monochrome, painted by the typical rainy night, illuminated in splotches of feeble yellow streetlights and the glare of car headlights. So many things could hide in the grimy shadows. The road was quiet, nearly empty, save a drunken man screeching obscenities like a broken record, burbles of "damnation" and "wasted redemption". You could almost smell crazy on him, though he seemed more aware of the state of the world than the rest of London's population, still going about their business, blaming the thunderstorms, and the hurricanes, upon much more mundane threats like "global warming". If only. 

Castiel paused, distracted by a faint shadow, quick and graceful, down one of London's twisting back roads, silent for the night, the shops shut, save the illuminated sign of an off-license. He squinted his eyes in suspicion, before wandering off to investigate. "What is it?" Dean asked, under his breath, nudging him on the shoulder, trying to be casual about it, make it look normal. Castiel was obviously wary. 

"Be quiet." Castiel demanded."I think something following us. Someone watching Sherlock may know who we are." Sam stumbled after him first, preparing his knife. "Angel or demon?"

"I don't know." He didn't break stride as he crossed the road, Sam and Dean close behind following, whatever it was, it seemed to be Castiel's plan to confront it. 

"I can see you." Castiel said evenly. He knelt down to examine an unconscious man, slightly overweight and the silver light showing a bead of drool, before looking into the dark shadows under the bridge a few feet ahead of him. The mysterious figure had put him to sleep. "I am fully aware, Castiel." An ambient voice said, neither sounding male or female. Dean could just about make out their height. Whoever it was incredibly short.

"How many of you?" Castiel growled, stepping ahead of the Winchesters instinctively, flicking his Angel's blade into his hand. Sam started at the figure's height although they were obscured by a hood the person couldn't have been more than twelve. The person was so young. The voice of the figure was soft, filled with yearning. "It's good to see you Cas."

"Loren," Cas muttered, before steeling himself. "Even if it's you,I won't let you harm the Winchesters."

Loren stepped closer to him, bridging the gap between them, to which Cas recoiled, pointing his Angel's blade to her chest. Loren swallowed, shaking her head. "I'm not here for them."

"You can't take me back." Castiel growled, his jaw set in determination. "Please leave, I don't want to hurt you Loren."

"I sympathise for you Cas, I understand that you are attached to them, but this can't go on." Loren took down her hood, her eyes beginning to burn with tears. "Look at you Cas, please. Come back."

"I'll be imprisoned."

"Nothing can come of this, I'll talk to them, maybe you could trade Dean for –"

"I will not trade Dean. God isn't here anymore Loren. The angels are running the place."

"But my orders –"

"They're not from God."

"I received orders from Heaven. They're using you!" Loren withdrew her knife, her hands slightly shaking. "I'm sorry Castiel."

Castiel pressed his knife into her fragile chest. She quivered, under his blade, painful words skittering off her tongue, "Dean must say yes, Castiel, don't you understand?" She gushed. Castiel could feel her pulse, her grace, pumping beneath her fragile vessel, her skin. She was just another victim of manipulation as he was. "Chuck's seen it. God wants this to happen." She met his eyes, and they brimmed with tears. "Look what this act of rebellion has done to you Castiel. Look at how low and unsightly you've become. You're not an angel Cas, you're not even human -"

"Why did they send you Loren?"

"Come back with me Cas, please. Dean's going to say yes, anyway; Chuck's seen it. You could join us in paradise. The humans will too."

" Many will die." Castiel swallowed. "Please listen to me, Loren, I don't want to kill you."

She smiled sadly. "It's a shame then, because I have to fight you." She used her knife, to twist his away, catching him off guard. Castiel, quickly countered, and they paced around each other, their silver blades clashing. Sam and Dean stood to the side, watching the attack; Dean finally truly appreciating all that Castiel had done for him. He could see that Castiel wasn't entirely focused on the fight. Loren managed to knock the knife out of Castiel's hand, dropping it to the floor. Instead of going for the kill, as Castiel expected, she wrestled him, to which he pinned her to the wall, grimacing as with one arm pressing her in place, he went to retrieve his blade. "You didn't even try. I've fought alongside you in battle."

She smiled, her lips cracking. "You're right. That's because I wanted you to win." There were tears in her eyes, streaming down her face. "You were supposed to kill me Castiel."

"Why?" Castiel was stricken.

"Because I know the truth, you're right. There's no God. He's gone." A bitter smile pulled up the corners, of her young face, matching her ancient eyes that welled up with tears. "He's abandoned us." She looked down at Castiel's arm, rather than to his face. "All my orders from heaven were lies." She whispered.

"You could rebel." Castiel pleaded. "What happened to you wanting me to come with you?"

"It was a bluff. I knew you'd say no,". She paused, swallowing, her face resolute. "I had to make you want to fight me."

Castiel couldn't bring himself to reply.

"I deserve to die." Her face hardened, her eyes crystallising as he looked into Cas's pitying face, seeing right through him. "Just kill me. Please Cas, for me. I wanted you to be the one to do it. I thought it'd be a form of righteous justice."

"Don't Cas," Dean said suddenly, watching Castiel's face wracked in pain. "She's obviously not thinking straight."

She turned to face Dean, her eyes hollow and dead. "If you'd have said yes, I would've been ignorant to all of this. The angels are in chaos. Humans are dying slowly, and denying what the angels want any longer would result in more collateral damage, more deaths. You can't deny your destiny."

Sam gritted his teeth. "Then why can't you help?! You can help us come up with another way!"

"Look at what you've done, to Castiel, an angel, or to any other pathetic creature that has ever got in the way between you and your brother. You destroy them. I have already… I have watched the universe fore eons and the stars and fire, and I am more powerful than you clumsy humans can ever comprehend." She smiled, "this must be hard for you brother," She disappeared out of Castiel's grasp, withdrawing her dropped knife. "You left me Cas, and you can't even give me the death I deserve. What kind of sibling are you?"

Castiel stared at her horrified, as she pointed the knife towards her chest. "Don't do this, Loren."

"You can't stop me Castiel. I'll go after them if you don't let me."

Sam lunged towards her, tackling her and trying to prise the knife out of her hand. She clawed at him in response, trying to kick herself away from him. "Your brother didn't leave you. He was trying to save all of the humans that the final battle would cause. God is gone? You can live without him."

Dean's eyes were blurring with tears. He couldn't physically move. He turned away from the scene, picturing Sam…instead of that small crying girl. He was so tired. He looked out to the street, tensing as he saw Zachariah, through the light rain.

"What's wrong with you?" Dean whispered. "Did you know that this would happen?"

"It's your last chance Dean," He warned. "Before we pull out the big guns. You will say yes."

Dean plunged after him, asking "How did you…?" before Zachariah disappeared from his sight. Looking back at them, Dean saw blood. His stomach sank; thinking it was Sam's, it was all over his shirt. But it wasn't. Sam was fine. It was Loren who was dying.

"You healed me." Sam said in bewilderment.

"You had good intentions." She replied breathlessly. "But I deserve this." Blood pooled down her dark hoodie. "Cas," she breathed, as he leaned in towards her, "Cas, I'm sorry, I couldn't rebel." Sam moved so that Castiel could hold her.

"It's okay Loren."

"God's disappointed in us. That's why he left."

Castiel put her down gently as her eyes went glassy. Castiel closed her eyes, turning away from her crumpled body, and the dark shadows of her wings spread out underneath her.

Dean didn't know what to say. His chest felt tight, and for once he felt he had the true respect of what the angel Castiel had truly given for him, and his anger against him, for now wanting to say yes to Zachariah. Sam looked at Dean, and he could almost feel his probing gaze, asking him why didn't he do anything? Normally, it was Dean that rushed in and saved people. But he'd frozen. He saw that Loren girl, and he saw Sammy. He saw sick and twisted Sam, destroying himself.

Castiel's face went blank, and his voice was flat and objective. Totally unlike the pleading, torn voice he'd heard as he begged Loren not to fight, not to kill herself. In a lot of ways Castiel was like Dean. "We should get back." Castiel said, gripping their shoulders. "Sherlock might be in danger if we're here. We can't lose our chances of finding the Doctor."

He transported them, and they stood before a burning building, shell of the apartment that they'd been to only a few short hours before. Castiel was suddenly tackled by a fast moving force, quickly acknowledged to be Sherlock, his eyes bright, and his pupils wide. "It's holy fire Castiel." He pressed a post it note into his hand. "It has the Doctor's phone number. Go, I should be able to hold off the angels." Sherlock gritted his teeth holding a long angel's blade, pointing it towards the all too familiar Zachariah. Police sirens sounded in the distance, and bewildered neighbours were peering cautiously out of windows. Someone screamed. "I told you Dean." Zachariah sighed, shrugging his shoulders as he approached them. But whatever else the angel was about to say was cut off as the winded Castiel recovered. He clutched Sam, Dean and Sherlock to himself and teleported.


	4. You're not dying

"What the hell?!" Dean questioned, stumbling, completely disorientated. "What was that Cas?!" Dean's head spun as he turned around to only see Sherlock, looking worse than him, kneeling on the ground, breathing heavily, his shaking hands fumbling for another cigarette. Dean tried to gauge his surroundings, but where he was he was completely uncertain. It was too dark, and he felt too nauseous.

Sherlock met Dean's eyes jerking his head, towards the angel and Sam. Dean sighed in relief. Sam was unscathed. Castiel was standing seemingly unharmed next to him. "What happened?" He demanded of the angel, when he realized that he was resting completely on Sam, his knees buckling beneath him. He rushed towards them. Castiel coughed, blood spluttering out of his mouth. "Easy Cas," Sam reassured him, lowering him onto the ground, trying to keep his head up.

Castiel struggled to move his head upwards to explain what had happened –

But his lungs felt like they were bursting was water. It was if he was being shredded from the inside out. The more he coughed, the worse it became to breathe. "Cas, what's wrong?!" Castiel's eyelids twitched, trying to move his mouth. He could barely make sense of anything. He was still reeling from the pain, the shock of it –

"Is he breathing?" Dean said kneeling beside the shattered angel, checking his pulse before Sam could get the chance. "Cas!"

"He's tried to break through a sigil." Sherlock said quietly. "It must've been much more complex than what I'd set up."

"What do we do?" Dean snapped. "If you're so smart how do we fix him?"

"We can't." Sherlock took a drag from his cigarette. "We have to move him."

"We don't even know where we are!" Dean spat, infuriated.

"Dean." Sam said his voice tight and urgent. "He's not breathing."

"Cas!" Dean leaned towards the angel, grabbing his trench coat, blocking out all the strain, pushing down all his fear. There was no time for it.

Caring doesn't save lives. It wouldn't save Cas. He started doing chest compressions. "You're not dying Cas." He said, gritting his teeth. Sherlock glanced to Sam, whose forehead was creased, his arm on Dean's shoulder. Dean was completely unaware. All that was on his mind was saving Cas. "Where's the note?" Sherlock asked. "We have to find the Doctor."

Sam showed it to him. "Cas gave it to me before he collapsed."

"Good. Now call him."

Sam nodded, silently pressing into the numbers into his phone, his eyes on Cas and Dean, as he waited for the doctor to answer, hoping that he would be able to help.

Cas wasn't responding. Dean's face was covered in sweat, his body tensing in panic, which he was trying to press down. He'd seen Cas die before. He'd seen it. But he'd come back. This Castiel before him was as still and motionless, sweaty and pale, and covered in blood as before. And he couldn't lose him. He couldn't bear to fail Castiel more than he already had. Instinctively, he placed his lips to Castiel's mouth, blowing more air into his body. Counting. He could taste salt and sweat. It was hard for him to believe in that moment, as he tried again and again that this person, this man was an angel. This being was an angel.

Angels weren't meant to die.

"Please, Cas." Dean hissed. "Please." His voice breaking, as he continued still, to pump life back into this angel's broken body. "Damn it Cas!" He growled. "Damn you."

Castiel's eyes flickered, widening as he pulled himself upright, retching up more blood. Dean watched him, his arms mechanically moving to support him. Dean could hardly manage to breathe. Cas coughed again. "I think we're all damned." Castiel mused, his eyes half glazed. His mouth curved into a slurred smile. "I think I need more alcohol."

Dean laughed in relief. Castiel's resilience always left him reeling.


	5. The Ponds

The Doctor prattled around the Tardis, fiddling with switches. He needed a change. Change of setting. He'd already renovated the Tardis. All of that had to go. Again, he considered deleting their room. The room he'd made for the Ponds. He'd already moved the old Gallifreyan cradle, tucked away all of little Amelia's things. They sat in one of the Tardis' many rooms. Safe. They were safe with all of the other little mementos that he'd hidden out of reach. It'd taken him twenty years to get this far. But that's the thing with being a time lord. It takes recovery that much longer, the memory of them, the memory of everything was just so fresh. Human minds were like a sieve, they forgot so easily. But the Doctor could not. He'd seen too many deaths, lost too many people. The Ponds were enough.

"I don't see why you didn't want the bunk beds," He muttered. "They were cool. I love bunk beds. The man, who invented bunk beds was a genius! Two for one in the same space, and a ladder, isn't that just great?! –" He spun in a little circle, gesturing to the air – to find that he'd done it again. He'd started speaking to them as if they were there. It was an absurd force of habit. He placed his hands in the pockets of his tweed jacket, unsure of what to do, where to go. He got to this point sometimes, where he felt he could almost leave this winter, the harsh Victorian era which he'd confined himself to, where he could be a Scrooge, with Strax, Vastra and Jenny calling whenever they found a potential problem. They were good at keeping people away for him. They'd often try, but he'd always say no. None of that was any fun anymore. As Rory had often said, he always made people a danger to themselves. How often was it that someone lived when they'd travelled with him? Or didn't forget him? Or was trapped somewhere he could never see them again?

If he'd have let them go… But they'd been his Ponds. His family. He jerked a lever more than necessary, hearing the protest of the Tardis. "I'm sorry old girl. I didn't mean it I promise." The Doctor crooned, flicking more switches. A spark blew. The Tardis shrieked, as the Doctor was thrown backwards, the Tardis rumbled. "I must've blown the oscillators!" The Doctor grabbed the rail for support, as the Tardis sparked, crawling towards the control centre. The Tardis phone began to ring. The Doctor hastily grabbed it, yelling, "WHAT IS IT?!" More circuits fizzed around him, and the Doctor struggled to maintain control of the Tardis using only one hand. He scrambled for the stabilizer. For goodness sake, it was hard enough controlling a Tardis without the help of five other Time Lords but this was ridiculous. There was what seemed to be a mumbled reply. "I'M BUSY!" The Doctor screamed, tugging on the cord. He pushed a few more buttons, sighing as the Tardis began to breathe more steadily. He stroked the centre tenderly, as if comforting her. "Sorry, exploding Tardis. Life or death situation, could you repeat that please? Look if this is Strax, I'd rather you'd call later. I'm very busy – renovation and all that. It takes time you know."

The person speaking paused, somewhat flustered. He was evidently caught unaware by the Doctor's erratic behaviour."I'm Sam Winchester, I guess we're wondering if you can help us –"

"Help? Right. Help. The thing is I don't help anymore. It gets too messy. What did you say was your name?"

"Sam Winchester, look Doctor –"

"Oh! Sam Winchester!" The Doctor paused, with an involuntary grin. Historical characters always made him excited. He soon managed to crush the emotions down, maintaining his sobriety. He was retired. "The end of the world, apocalypse Sam, or is this a different era? It's hard to tell with the Winchesters…" He paused. "You probably need to specify."

The voice sighed. "Apocalypse. Look Doctor –"

"Can I tell you something Sam?" The Doctor interrupted. "I'm retired. I don't do that sort of thing anymore. It all gets to be very depressing."

"I can relate."

Understandably. He was pretty desperate at this point in time.

"Doctor, I know what it's like to lose someone."

"Yes, I suppose you do." The Doctor said quietly, leaning against the Tardis. "But that doesn't change anything."

"It's the end of the world Doctor!" Sam yelled. "You should know that!"

"It always is somewhere." The Doctor swallowed, twirling the cord. Yes. It always is somewhere. There was a scuffle on the phone and some irritable grunts. It sounded like an argument. The Doctor assumed it was Dean, about to fire some persuasive insults. He'd read it enough times in the novels. Chuck was a good writer, had kept him on his toes. He considered hanging up. But he didn't. The Doctor was too interested, too invested for his own good. He felt sorry for them.

But even if the Doctor wanted to he couldn't meddle. The Winchester's timeline was far too tricky to meddle with. There were too many fixed points; it was a vestige of paradoxes waiting to happen. The Doctor withdrew the phone from his ear, frowning as he caught all the snippets of dialogue. He didn't realise that Team Free Will could be quite so disorganized.

"DAMMIT, GIVE ME THE PHONE –"

"Hey!"

"Let's be reasonable about this perhaps I should talk to him."

"You can barely see straight Cas."

A commanding voice captured the Doctor's attention.

"The Ponds."

The Doctor hung up. His mind was reeling with the suddenness of it. He wasn't expecting –

The Ponds. Sherlock. He was the only one to figure out his one word test. The man was certainly becoming quite a bother. He had no idea how he could've been so unprepared for such an attack. Sherlock had contacted him on behalf of Torchwood and Sarah Jane Smith before. He thought he'd made it quite clear. He thought he'd made it clear to them all: he was done.


	6. Chuck's Warning

"Are you serious?" Sam snapped, as he snatched the phone from Sherlock's hand. His eyebrows creased in response, his expression comically perplexed. Sherlock's eyes flickered to his hand; almost taken away by the fact his hands were empty. Castiel could see that he obviously wasn't used to dealing with the Winchesters. At least this was reassurance to him that it was not only him that had this issue, although he could clearly see through the man's slow reaction response and dilated pupils that substance abuse could also be the case.

Humans on the whole were complicated.

"Look Doctor –"

"He hung up didn't he?" Dean sighed, running a hand through his hair.

"Perhaps mentioning the abrupt departure of his loved ones wasn't the best method of persuasion." Castiel suggested, now just about managing to sit upright, with some support from Dean. He hovered over him protectively, a hand gently but firmly pressed against his back, his other, fluttering in the air in front of his chest. It was this Dean, this petrified child, whose hands struggled to hold Castiel together was the real Dean. For once, Dean's barriers were broken, revealing the chinks in his armour. This was the scared child that Castiel had wrenched out of hell. Castiel had over time come to wonder whether he carried hell on his skin. He felt tainted –impure, though that was not surprising. He was an outcast. An angel who'd fallen, fallen for humanity

He could see no hope in Dean's eyes anymore, all of that had been leeched away, leaving this broken thing. This was the child that was contemplating saying yes to Michael. Castiel's chest ached as he looked at him. He couldn't find the words; he didn't know how to plead, how to –

The rage against Dean, that he'd felt had just dissolved into a gut wrenching ache, residing deep within himself. He wasn't angry with Dean anymore, not really. It had resigned into a bitter ache, as lingering as the hell on his skin. And looking at Dean, like this, he just wanted to curl up and sleep, even though that's not what angels do – its what humans do, its what Dean does, with his arms wrapped around Dean tightly, because having Dean in his arms would make him feel so much more substantial. Dean was distant, and Castiel was frustrated that no matter how hard he tried, how much he gave, he couldn't seem to reach him. Dean just took him for granted.

. "We're stuck in the middle of nowhere, with no impala, a busted angel and –"

"We're in Fairwater Park, in Cardiff. It's about three miles away from the hospital that Bobby was alluding to earlier. I almost tore my vessel, and all of you apart getting here." He frowned, wanting to apologise for what happened, to explain how frustrated he was with himself, his arrogance for not expecting the hospital not to be protected. He should have known better. It was simple strategy.

"It's okay Cas." Dean said quietly. "No blood no foul."

Castiel looked at Dean blankly, confused. He was covered in blood.

"Not necessarily," Sherlock added, "Many other things can allude to foul play."

Sam just wanted to bury his head into his hands. He had enough to deal with, his brother and Castiel were bad enough, but Sherlock –

His head throbbed. This was all too much. But he had to maintain control. "Right Cas, can you tell us what happened?"

"Can you give him a minute to breathe Sam?" Dean growled, his hands still supporting the angel.

Castiel gave a minute smile, bemused. "It must be protected by demons. I crashed into a sigil, this was the closest I could get us."

Dean frowned. "Is it just the hospital?"

"There's a boundary across the –" Castiel was silenced as Sam's phone began to ring. He answered immediately. "Doctor?" He immediately questioned, hopeful that the mad man had changed his mind.

"It's Chuck."

Sam's brow creased. "Chuck? What is it, I thought that you were being protected –"

"It's not important." Chuck interrupted.

Dean and Sam exchanged a glance. Dean watched him intently, burning to ask what was being said.

"I just had – needed to tell you to leave Cardiff." He hesitated before adding, "Immediately."

"Why?" Sam asked.

"It's a full frontal demon and angel battle."

"Well what have you seen?"

"I haven't gotten far enough yet. I've tried writing – but it doesn't look good for any of you. I had to tell you."

"Right."

Chuck added. "It especially doesn't look good for you Sam."

"Thanks Chuck." Sam said, hanging up.

"What do you think he means by that Sam?" Castiel asked first, having heard the whole conversation. Sam blinked, caught unaware by the confrontation. That's what you get when you're dealing with an angel. "I don't know." Sam sighed, imperceptibly shaking his head at Cas, hoping that he would know to drop the subject before Dean caught wind of the "extra warning". He'd go into overprotective big-brother mode. He was bad enough around him already. Cas subtly nodded back, seemingly perplexed.

"What did Chuck say Sam?"

"What did he propheticise?" Sherlock added, only to receive a resentful glare from Dean. Sherlock's breathing alone annoyed him. It had the distinct taste of supremacy. "He just said that there's a whole demon-angel battle going on here and that we should keep out of the way."

"Can you think of why Castiel?" Sherlock questioned, his mind already at work.

"Nothing comes directly to mind." Castiel answered. "I'd have to examine the hospital to come up with anything conclusive. A hospital healed of all illnesses and sealed off to angels doesn't really add up to anything definitive at this point."

"Why would demons want to keep out angels from the hospital?" This case stumped him. He had only scraped the surface on researching the supernatural. He'd only become fully aware of other beings at work two years ago when working on a murder case, caused by a poltergeist. His addiction had taken a turn for the worse after that. His interest in the supernatural, had bordered the delicate line of obsession.

"What symbols would we need to erase for you to get into the hospital Castiel?" Sherlock asked.

"Could we not give him a chance to rest first?" Dean snapped.

"I'm fine now Dean." He gently pushed away Dean's hands, giving a small nod of reassurance. They only moved to support him, as he slowly with some effort, managed to stand upright, gritting his teeth as a gasp of pain escaped his mouth. Relief filled Dean's features, and Castiel took pleasure in seeing such affection written in his face. Despite all odds, Castiel had yet another lucky escape from death. He was weak and sore, but alive. And that counted for something.

Despite Castiel's exhausted reassurances that he was "fine" Dean was adamant. "Where's the nearest motel?" Reflexively Castiel raised his hand to Dean's shoulder. He received a baleful glare. "No way Cas, not when you're in this state."

Castiel crossed his arms, somewhat annoyed. Sam smirked, for the first time after receiving Chuck's warning. He caught Cas glancing back at him, his eyes broaching an anxious question, searching for an invitation. Sam gave him none. Seeing that he wasn't going to budge on the topic, he simply stated, "There's a hotel called the Avenue Guest House. If you're not going to let me take the short way, it's a two mile walk."

"Right, just pretend you're stoned." Dean said, securely wrapping Castiel's arm around his shoulder. "Trust me, that is not a problem." Castiel mumbled, his eyes going slightly unfocused. "That sigil was not pleasant."

"I'll say." Sherlock drily remarked. "Perhaps you should consider ordering a taxi if its really going to be a problem for him."

"Yeah, if we were sure that the taxi driver wouldn't be a demon, or have to go to the police about the fact that our clothes are covered in blood."

"That wouldn't be a good predicament." Castiel muttered, feeling dizzy.

"C'mon Cas, you have to try and stay awake buddy." Dean hissed, as he began to drag Castiel along, as he slipped out of consciousness, into a mechanic stupor.


	7. A Weak and Pitiful Child

Castiel was in half a daze as he began to hear the whispers. The voice was indistinct, a chorus of mutterings, the last ocean's lick of an echo. It saturated the air with its musical liquor; stroking his chest, caressing the wounds and sores within his broken vessel, slowly binding him back together. It seeped into his skin, a welcome drug. It slipped onto his tongue, weighing it down with a thick honey, preventing him from reply. The voice only asked to be listened to. And it was impossible to deny it that pleasure.

Dean sat on the bed opposite his friend, watching him intently. His brow creased in worry as he saw his friend's eyes twitch. He'd been out for a while. Sam laid a hand on his shoulder, causing Dean to flinch at the casual touch. He naturally expected Cas. "He'll be fine Dean."

Dean could only manage a nod, his breath hitching in his throat. He coughed slightly before looking back up at Sam. "Maybe you should sleep for a couple of hours. You look awful." He remarked. Sam's face was haggard, with lack of sleep, he'd been dragged through a war zone. Not that he didn't usually, it was just more prominent than usual.

He shouldn't have let him help him carry Castiel. The angel was heavy.

Sam smiled slightly. "You're probably right." His headache was only getting worse. "Do you think that Sherlock would've left his "mind palace" yet?" Sam mused.

"Mind palace?" Dean said, shaking his head, remembering Sherlock's outburst, declaring they get out so he could go to his "mind palace". "Is he five? Do you think he's king there or something?"

"Probably."

He was in the next room of the hotel, having arranged two rooms for them to share. Sherlock had wanted space to think. From what Dean had seen he could compliment Sherlock on three things: his insanity, his brilliance and his ability to lie (seen by the charming way he'd addressed the receptionist, that was the most beautiful display of flattery that Dean had ever seen). If that didn't scare him, nothing would. "Where do you think he got that angel blade Sam?" Dean asked suddenly. Sherlock was an enigma to him, the more he knew about him the more he confused him. He was someone that Dean was uncomfortable working with. But he'd somehow managed to force himself onto this case, and it's not like Castiel could bring him back at this point. Not in that sorry state. He could barely stand without some help. Besides, Sherlock could give away vital information about what they were looking for. Who it was they had been looking for when that route had hit a dead end, since the Doctor was a bust. Needn't let the angels know that they had no idea what to do.

"An angel." Sam said bluntly. "Look, I don't know Dean, but he seems to know more than we do. He could be useful."

"Not enough to let us know what's going on! He could be summoning demons in there for all we know."

Sam raised a hand to his temples, trying to dull the pain. That headache really wasn't ceasing anytime soon. It was quite the camper. Sleep deprivation sucked.

"You need your sleep." He raised his arms in a peaceful manner, trying to remain calm as he added. "But I just – what was with all the shifty eyes back there between you and Cas? Don't think I didn't know nothing was going on. Cas was going all screwy-eyed." He looked Sam in the eyes. "What did Chuck say?"

"It was nothing really," Sam said reassuringly. His face looked earnest, but Dean knew his brother. He had full knowledge of his abilities.

"I'm your brother dumbass, I've seen you lie before. What was it?"

"He just told me to be careful."

"Is that it?" Dean took a deep breath, rubbing a hand over his light stubble. Couldn't prophets just give them a straight answer for once? Was it really that hard?

Sam looked away. "He said it to me specifically. Look I didn't tell you because I didn't want you to be mad –"

Dean raised a hand. "I'm not in the mood Sam for your excuses, I'm serious: if you hear anything, any warning from Chuck or who knows what you tell me. I don't care how stupid it sounds."

"Sorry."

"This case: Sherlock, all the demons and angels around. Don't pawn this off as patronizing big-brother talk. I don't trust him. He's smart and insane. That's not a good combination."

Sam rubbed his eyes. "Yeah."

Dean got up, seeing that Sam looked like he was on the verge of collapse. "You should really get some sleep Sam," He said, getting up from he bed. "I'm not carrying you too."

Sam nodded gratefully; collapsing onto the bed fully dressed, nearly asleep by the time he hit the pillow.

Dean pulled up a chair, an uncomfortable one to say the least, and sat watching the two, one hand clenched in a tight fist, and the other itching around the hilt of Ruby's knife. The doors and windows were salted, and he'd set his ringtone to replay an exorcism. He even managed to snatch a couple of hours of light rest, sleeping to the sound of the exorcism recording. It made him feel safer.

After some time, the voice was becoming more distinct to Cas, its wavelength became more familiar to him: it was something from heaven itself. The voice sang Enochian, but in a dialect and a voice that Castiel found impossible to place. He could conjure up no angel in his mind with such a voice as this. But he could recognize the song, it was one that every angel knew. It was one of the oldest songs. One that was sang on creation days. Although the voice was weak, and his connection to heaven being distant, he could feel the life, being pumped into this place. Demons if they had this, under captivity could only taint it. Castiel knew that this source of purity, this beautiful – life-bringing thing was something to be protected.

But the question was who it was or what? Within that strange state of awareness, as the voice began to work miracles in his body a trickle of hope – a stupid dream of who it just might be –

He squashed it down. He would be more powerful. This was not his voice. It was too frail and weak, a whisper. He knew that this was not his father.

Eventually, he managed to mutter out a reply under his breath, returning naturally to his native tongue - Enochian.

The wavelength of communication was broken, as Dean shook him awake. "Cas! You okay man? I thought you might have been delirious." Dean gushed, somehow unable to get himself to shut up. He was too vulnerable when it came to the people he cared about, and he hated himself for it.

Castiel frowned. "I'm fine. My vessel has been completely healed."

"That's great Cas –"

Castiel shook his head. "I shouldn't have healed that quickly Dean. Some being advanced the process."

"Angel?" Dean asked frowning, his full attention on Cas.

"No –" He paused. "It was celestial, but not an angel. I'd recognize it if was an angel. I'm trying to keep my distance from them as best as I can at the moment. I need to keep them away from you, considering your lack of dedication to the cause."

"Look Cas –" Dean began only to be cut off by the exhausted look on Castiel's face. He looked just like his dad in that moment, he knew that emotion, the crumpled frown, slight sag of the mouth: disappointment. It hurt. He wanted to fling that hurt back into Cas' face because screw him. Nothing worked. The universe had designed that Dean Winchester live a sucky life, and he couldn't have any stability. He thought of Lisa and Ben. Those were the only times he could picture himself as actually being some sort of happy.

But he didn't know how to explain this all to Castiel, an angel. He couldn't. Castiel couldn't feel things the way Dean could, and he never would. Castiel was an angel. He wasn't supposed to. He could only see what Dean was doing in the barest terms of betrayal. Dean had failed him. And Dean knew it. And he was sorry. But he couldn't do it anymore. Castiel's anger was still in the wounds on his face, the bruises from the chain link fence. The pain of failure was written into the puckered scabs and the yellowing sickly bruises, forming scars of disappointment. He could only think of the irony that the one that delivered him from hell would be the one to condemn him.

A sickening, ugly and twisted smile upturned his lips. Screw Cas. Screw him. "Well, it'd be a lot more peaceful than hanging out with you. You're a pile of issues." A smirk at Cas' expense.

"I think we're pretty even Dean, in that area." Castiel said quietly. "But at least I haven't given up yet."

"And why is that Cas?!" Dean taunted. The wound that Castiel had opened was burning now, fizzing away at the memories of the person who'd taken redemption away from him. "Do you still think your dad is going to show up?! Well, grow up Castiel, he's not. That's your wake up call. This is the real world and it sucks. Just go back to your cloud in the sky and drink fifty more liquor stores. You –"

"Shut it asshat." Castiel commanded, staring him down.

Dean stood his ground, resilient, waiting for another blow. Another beating. It was better to see anger there in Castiel's eyes, righteous rage, rather than that crease between his eyebrows; pity. Disappointment. Dean had seen enough of it.

Castiel decided to move on, ignoring his defensive behaviour, no longer participating in Dean's game of who could hurt whom more. This only grated on Dean's nerves more. "We need to get into the hospital. I need to try and get in contact with the wavelength again."

He reluctantly nodded. He forced himself to back off. Stupid, he thought to himself. Stupid. Idiot. He hemmed up all that anger into that box that he always saved for later. He felt he could really use a drink, but his flask was empty. He should've been more prepared. Have an emergency flask supply for when Cas dragged him along to places like this without warning.

Seeing as it was daylight hours, he didn't feel too much regret in waking Sam. Four hours normally sufficed, and Dean wasn't really in the mood for sympathy. He too angry at Cas to deal with those emotions.

"Sam." Dean stated, his one of pity as he saw Sam's struggle to resurface to consciousness, blinking fiercely. His eyes were red. He looked worse than he did last night.

Sam looked like he felt. It was as if he'd just sustained the worst hangover imaginable. His mouth tasted metallic, and his head rang with pain, a horrendous, deafening chime. His ears thumped, as if his brain was getting smashed against his skull in a harsh game of tennis. Groggily, he stood, stumbling blindly as the world spun. Head rush. Pleasant.

His chest felt tight, and before his body could recover from the lack of oxygen coughs racked his frame.

Maybe Dean felt a twinge of guilt. He really did look awful. "Sorry man."

Sam ignored him, pressing a hand against his head, as if that would relieve the pain.

"You'd think that the celestial wavelength would be able to heal this walking train wreck." Dean said drily. A bitter smile, a private joke at Cas' expense.

If Castiel noticed he didn't react. Clearly he felt Dean wasn't worth his time.

"Wavelength?" Sam mumbled, still half asleep in the part of his brain that wasn't pounding incessantly.

"Apparently some "celestial being " mojo fixed up Cas in the night."

"You sure you weren't dreaming? Hallucinating maybe?"

"Angels can't dream." Castiel said, his voice thick with the implication of wishing he was able to.

Dean wished he could tell Cas sometimes that being a human is overrated, with the way he reacted to everything.

They all recoiled at the sound of a crash. Dean and Castiel flicked out their blades. Sherlock burst into the room, his shirt speckled with blood, his stolen angel blade covered in a shiny red. "Demons are in the building." He said gruffly, pointing to the stairs. "I yelled Cristo and the cleaner flinched."

Huh, Sam thought. They hadn't used that trick in a long time. Sherlock certainly knew what they were talking about.

Sherlock went on. "She was very weak, she couldn't seem to stay in her body for very long. She didn't even hide her eyes."

Dean crossed his arms; listening intently, ready to dismiss it all as false. Sherlock could be lying for all he knew. "You sure she wasn't trying to trick you?"

Sherlock shook his head. "No. She was trying to warn me."

Sam frowned at the new found information. "Do they know about the prophecy?"

"Chuck warned you about something?"

Sam's tired silence was enough.

"How many?"

Sherlock shrugged, glancing back to the doorway. His fingers moved to lock it. There were more stumbles, more crashes.

The door began to shake. "Please," Trailed out the pathetic whimpers. The salt in the doorway began to blow away. The demons using telekinesis, to blow the salt away. "Stand underneath the Devil's trap." Dean hissed.

"Why are they so desperate?" Sherlock wondered.

Castiel glanced to Sam. "I think it has something to do with the celestial wavelength."

Sam looked down, his hands shaking. He felt weak. The pit of his stomach growled. His mouth watered, as the door slammed down. A grin uplifted his face –

Dean lunged to grab Sam, holding his flailing limbs down, immediately recognising the signs. "Don't you dare Sam."

But the evil inside Sam – The thirst –

His thought process only became more scrambled, as Castiel's hand moved to touch the demon's face as the door blasted open. "Please GET HIM OUT!" The demon begged, before crumpling to its knees. Sherlock stepped into the hallway. More were converging. "They're trying to get me to take you out of here." Castiel realized.

"Maybe we should let them. Look at Sam, I bet that's why he's such a mess."

Sherlock gave a small nod, "Obviously."

"Hold me down Dean." Sam growled. "I can't control it." His mouth was thick with saliva, his mouth parched that could only be relieved the by demons dead in front of him, their wounds bleeding, still fresh –

Dean shook him. He was not letting go. "Sammy." He breathed through gritted teeth, before turning to Castiel "We need to get out of here."

Sherlock glanced up to the devil's trap, as more demons streamed into the room, hissing slightly at the grains of salt. They fell to the floor, arms outstretched in a plea.

An angel materialized in the midst of them; one that the boys hadn't seen before.

"COVER YOUR EYES –" Castiel screamed.

Sherlock kneeled immediately, bringing his arms up as a shield. Dean forced Sam's struggling head into his chest. He clenched his eyes shut.

There was a deafening roar. The demons eyes burned out of their sockets.

"There may have been people in this building." Dean snapped, arms still interlocked around Sam. Sam growled in response, eyes wild.

"Come with us Dean. If you care about your brother."

Two more angels appeared.

Castiel muttered out a reluctant greeting.

"Come with us Dean, if you want your brother to live."

A hand was raised to Sherlock's face, as the blank faced angel sent him to sleep. He bore no interest whatsoever in the genius.

Castiel froze. He was too far away to grab them and escape. "You don't think we'd realise where you'd probably go?" The leader of the three asked, his voice thick with mockery. "This isn't anything to do with you."

"What is it then?" Castiel demanded. "What is the wavelength?"

"Nothing for you to be concerned with."

Castiel backed away, as the angel stepped forward. Castiel knew that this angel –

Richard was stronger than him. He pressed against the window; knife withdrawn, pumping with what he would – if he were human would call adrenaline, muscles tense, body singing with a new found resilience. No one was taking the Winchesters today.

The angels stopped, backing away in confusion. Castiel remained rigid, blad still out, forehead creasing.

That's when the pain hit. It was a hot rod searing Castiel's brain. It flashed white, red and gold behind his eyes.

His brothers cringed against the ground.

The lights in the room sparked alight before bursting into flickering sparks. Castiel staggered –

The world was on fire –

An intense sound, an angry rumble was making the walls shimmer. He raised his hands to his head, trying to block out the noise, white and blinding –

His vision swirled, behind his movement. He turned dizzily in the direction his brothers' hands raked the air. Their expressions mimicked each other: mouths set wide composing soft burbling harmonies, underneath the white-hot melody.

Dean watched in bewilderment, curving his body around, arms still gripped around Sam –

"Cas!" He yelled, unsure why the angels were suddenly kneeling, arms drawn upwards and screaming.

Cas blinked, trying to block out the bubbles of protest from escaping his lips. With great effort he gestured to the window, the source. From the periphery, Dean could see a flash of blue. The Tardis.

A ticket to who knows where in the universe.


	8. It's Funnier In Enochian

Just as Dean had spotted the Tardis it faded out of sight. Sam was still fighting. The angels were gone. It seemed that this Doctor was even more cryptic than every single angel they'd come across. Disappearing and reappearing like nobody's business. The man was fickle. "Damn it Sammy," he grumbled, trying to find a purchase on his wriggling body, pinning down his wrists. "Relax man."

Sam tried to wrench himself out of Dean's grasp, breathing heavily, pupils dilated, the face of a man about to get his fix. All Sam could be aware of was the grip that kept him from gorging himself on the corpses of the bloody demons. The room enveloped with the heady scent of blood, an overpowering scent of temptation.

"You okay Cas?" Dean breathed, briefly glancing to the angel. Sam was requiring all of his concentration. One drop. One drop would be all it would take for Sammy to descend into his madness again.

Dean wasn't going to let Sam get locked up again. He wasn't going to torture Sam the way he'd done in the past again. Having to make Sam "abstain" again would kill him.

"Yes, I'm fine," Castiel muttered, as he swayed on his feet, vision still blurry, barely aware of his surroundings. His ears rung, still resonating with the now absent noise that that almost driven him to his knees. He was still unsure whether the angels were really gone; a faint impression of the angels cringing away from the Tardis seemed to be ingrained into his brain.

Sherlock blinked, suddenly awake. He shifted his position slightly, having passed out on top of a dead demon, blood dribbling down its face. He wiped his sleeve in disgust. "Would any one care to tell me what I missed?" He asked, reaching into his coat for another cigarette, to realise he didn't have any left. He'd used them all up pondering this new case, mere hours before, he wasn't really sure how long. He'd gone downstairs to go out and purchase some more. That was when he'd noticed that the workers were demons. He coughed, eyes going wet. His eyes darted about him, taking in snippets of the room. Stabbed demons. Dazed angel. Dean was restraining his brother in a tight armlock. "Castiel!" Sherlock suddenly yelled, scrambling to his feet.

Castiel barely had time to recover his balance when he was yanked sideways. "Move." Sherlock commanded, hissing into his ear. "The Tardis was materializing where you were standing."

Castiel frowned, his eyes focusing on Sherlock, before flickering back to the Devil's trap behind him. The familiar sound of the Tardis warped with his distorted hearing, a surreal echo. A cracked smile formed on Castiel's lips, a tired one as the Doctor stepped out, smiling nervously.

"Well hello! It's the Winchesters! Good to see you're still alive." He rambled, thinking aloud. "Sherlock," He also acknowledged, with some trepidation. "Always popping up everywhere."

"Hello Doctor." Sherlock replied. There was an awkward pause between the two, the Doctor recalling the Sherlock saying the Ponds down the phone. Two months and it still stung. That was how long it had taken him to make up his mind about tracking the call to this time period and location. Not that he was here to expressly help them. The Doctor had other interests.

"What did you do?" Castiel rasped, blinking fiercely, still trying to focus on seeing one Tardis and one Doctor. There seemed to be about three.

"Ah, yes, sorry about that. I had to use my sonic screwdriver to meet your resonating frequency to disarm the angels. It shouldn't last long." The Doctor explained, tossing the screwdriver to and fro in his hands.

Castiel's brow furrowed in concentration. "What made you change your mind?"

The Doctor paused, fiddling with the settings on his sonic screwdriver. "It's not really that important. But what's important is that something took off from earth, hit the atmosphere, and fell back down to earth. Alien it seems. Obviously dormant for a long time. Beginning of time perhaps." His screwdriver whirred. "It's apparently putting a stopper on death."

Castiel couldn't help but flinch away from the screwdriver as it glowed, and the Doctor strode around the room, seeming to ignore the dead bodies. He even drew in his screwdriver up close to one. "Strange." He mused. "They have traces of the radiation that my tardis picked up. It obviously wasn't the cause of death, but it definitely weakened them. Otherwise this many demons would've overpowered you, they're all over the building, that's why I had to drive the tardis right up to the window. Which was very difficult to do. Tardis was a bit rusty, she's been parked for awhile."

"Radiation? So you're saying that the "celestial wavelength" that healed Castiel and weakened Sam is an alien Doctor?" Sherlock asked, ignoring the rest of the Doctor's spiel.

"Well…yes I suppose. A wavelength that weakens demons and heals angels…"

"Hey!" Dean protested as the Doctor scanned Castiel. "What are you doing?!"

"Seeing how similar the frequencies are. Cas, is a celestial wavelength, so if they both are from the same origin they should have similar frequencies which they do." The Doctor scrutinized his screwdriver, before directing it to Sam.

Dean reflexively moved to protect Sam from the object, as the Doctor quickly scanned Sam with it.

"There. I blocked the signals of the wavelength from getting to Sam, since he has demon blood. Temporary solution, obviously, but it'll work for now, at this distance. Signal's weak enough to block." The Doctor smiled reassuringly, the type of smile that made Dean's stomach burn, with the notion that it wasn't really a good fix at all.

What was he even doing here, if he didn't want to help?

Dean frowned. This guy really needed to slow down his speech pattern. Half of what he said barely made any sense. He was actually pondering which person he preferred between him, the man who talked too fast, and wore ridiculously outdated clothes or Sherlock, the arrogant genius with the obsession of wearing a coat and scarf indoors even though it wasn't even cold. Sherlock was still winning at the moment. "What is that thing?" He finally asked, thinking it was an updated version to their homemade ghost monitors.

"Sonic screwdriver." He said proudly. "It's great isn't it?"

"Whatever you say." Dean remarked, smiling as he saw Sam come more to his senses, seeming to be a little more in control of himself.

"Dean?" He mumbled, as his slowly recovered enough for Dean to feel comfortable letting go of him. "It's fine, I can control it."

Dean merely glared back at him in response. "Are you really sure Sam?"

"Yes, Dean I'm sure," Sam stressed, standing upright, breathing through his mouth to ignore the fact that there were demon bodies strewn everywhere and that he was actually pretty hungry –

He forced himself to focus. "Doctor – why did you come? I thought you said you were retired."

"I am." The Doctor replied. "I'm not helping you with the apocalypse, I'm leaving that to you. Fixed time points and all that nonsense. It's all very complex. But that's not the point. I'm retired. This is – I'm curious that's all."

Dean and Sam just stared at him in response, glancing to Castiel in accusation. Castiel ducked his head, as if pretending to not have heard what the Doctor actually just said. The Doctor couldn't have helped even if he'd wanted to. "Fixed time points?"

"Actually, it's more like a maze of fluctuating waves and loops in a rollercoaster..." The Doctor sighed. "As I said complicated. Can't give away any endings. Spoilers, as a good friend of mine would say."

"So you know what happens?" Sam asked. "With the apocalypse."

"Well…no…yeah…a bit." The Doctor looked at them sternly. "But I can't tell you. It's secret, it may rip a hole in time and space."

"Well, Cas, you'd think this'd be important enough to mention." Dean said sarcastically.

"We were out of options."

"So we're screwed?"

Castiel sighed.

"No, I did not say that!" The Doctor emphasized. "It's your problem to deal with. I only came to see what the alien was." He opened the door of the Tardis, gesturing for them to follow.

"Are you sure that "telephone ship" is big enough for all of us?" Dean asked. "I'm sure most of us could fit, but my brother Sammy here –" He motioned towards his brother, who narrowed his eyes at him "He's tall."

Castiel gave a wane smile. And Dean felt angry at himself for registering it and feeling proud of himself. He was supposed to be mad at him. He was mad. Castiel, well Castiel was treating him like dirt, being all self righteous about Dean not meeting his ridiculous expectations, for not striving to fight for a lost cause.

"Ah! I always love this part!" The Doctor said, skipping around the Tardis, watching their faces (Sam and Dean's) light up in awe. Castiel merely squinted, as he examined the Tardis while Sherlock simply crossed his arms, feet tapping impatiently. He'd seen this all before.

"Man, this is freaking awesome!" Dean said grinning.

"It's bigger –"

"On the inside, yes, please don't be obvious." Sherlock interrupted.

The Doctor pouted. "I like it when they say that."

Sherlock rolled his eyes.

"Why the police box?" Sam asked, glancing around, looking up at the symbols at the top of the control centre and wondering if he'd ever seen them before, or studied any language similar. Stanford had been a long time ago.

"Why the impala?" The Doctor retorted.

"Touché." Dean hesitated before adding "How'd you know about the Impala?"

"The books." The Doctor said. "Very good you know."

Dean and Sam responded with a look of disgust.

"Why's it called the Tardis?" Sam questioned, still looking around his surroundings. He'd never seen anything like it. It reminded him of countless science fiction films that Dean had dragged him along to without dad knowing, with his stupid liquorice sticks and flirtatious smiles at the person giving Sam the popcorn. They'd always ended up getting extra butter as a result. "Time And Relative Dimensions In Space." Sherlock answered for him.

"Right." Sam said. "So this thing can really go anywhere?"

Sherlock nodded.

"You're ruining my fun Sherlock." The Doctor moaned. "Taking all of the fun out of it."

Castiel walked over to Doctor, whispering something into his ear. The Doctor giggled. "You're right."

"Cas what'd you say?" Dean buzzed, feeling as if he'd missed something important.

Castiel shrugged, looking smug as he watched the Doctor try to hold back his laughter. "It's funnier in Enochian."


	9. Awkward suits and interviews

The Doctor pulled down a monitor, his fingers drumming against the Tardis’ control centre, seemingly independent of their master. The Doctor glanced back to the angel briefly as the Tardis whirred and they parked. “Follow me gang!” He gestured as he walked down the Tardis’ ramp out into the quiet street.  
“Do you need a Scooby snack Shaggy?” Dean joked, feebly, looking back at Castiel who was still standing inside the Tardis. “Shut up Dean.” Sam sighed, shoving his hands into his pockets. “I do not understand.” Castiel frowned, puzzled, crossing his arms, habouring the confidence to take another step, gritting his teeth. He could still remember the blinding hot white pain as he was blasted away from the hospital. It took everything to grip the boys and haul them to safety. 

“Forget it Cas.” Dean waved a dismissive hand. “Of course you wouldn’t get it.”  
“I advise you ignore his behavior Castiel, it’s typical of a passive aggressive.”  
“Why don’t you shut the hell up, Sherlock?” Dean barked, really wishing that he could punch Sherlock in his stupid face.  
“Defensive.” Sherlock remarked, his low base voice making Dean seethe.  
“Stop it Dean.” Sam hissed, laying a hand on Dean’s shoulder. “I get that he’s a jerk but don’t let him get to you.”  
“Stay out of it Sam.”  
“It should be alright Cas,” The Doctor reassured him; raising his voice loud enough to grab everyone else’s attention. “Or it should be. I should’ve gone back in time and erased some of the sigils. If not, trial and error right?”  
“Yes that is very encouraging, Doctor.” Castiel remarked, folding his arms, getting over his trepidation, stepping down the ramp, through the open door, out into the cool air. He hissed, feeling his strength being momentarily sapped from him. His wings felt like a dead weight, grounding him to the ground that he stood on. Other than that he was fine.  
The Doctor watched him closely; smiling as he saw his gamble had been proved right. “I did go back in time! Wait here gentlemen!” The Doctor cried, exultant as he pranced back inside the Tardis. Castiel and Sherlock seemed to be the only ones that were unfazed by the Doctor’s erratic behavior. 

“He’s a psycho.” Dean murmured.  
“I thought I told you to keep your opinions to yourself.” Castiel warned, his rough voice grating against Dean’s nerves. What gives him the right?  
“Oh, because I listen to you Cas, all the freaking time.”  
Castiel glowered, at which Dean responded to by winking. Sam looked away, ashamed by Dean’s petty behavior, unable to get him to stay silent for more than thirty seconds. Castiel fists clenched, his jaw muscles twitching as he tensed. “You’d do well to keep your mouth shut, Dean.” He managed to breathe past his teeth.  
“Because I listen to you, don’t I Cas? Well, go on, and fight me Cas, finish off what you started earlier.”  
Castiel exhaled deeply, his jaw relaxing, his eyes no longer focusing on Dean. “And what will that accomplish?”  
Dean was interrupted, from replying with a witty retort, as the blue box reappeared, and the Doctor, hopped out of the Tardis, disheveled, coated in fine ash and grinning. “Demons actually explode if they get too near to the source!” He laughed, balancing himself against the Tardis, as his legs shook underneath him.  
“So it’s just us against the angels?” Sam asked.  
“It’d appear so,” The Doctor replied. “I ought to get changed, I can’t walk into a hospital like this. I’d make a horrible impression. In fact, all of you look ridiculous, except you Sherlock, although your clothes could perhaps use a wash.”  
“What are you insinuating Doctor?” Sherlock said, his mouth twitching in agitation.  
“We need to find you some suits.”  
“I can’t believe we’re taking fashion advice from this guy.”  
“I actually quite miss seeing such attire,” Castiel murmured. “It was considered quite dapper.” Castiel’s face seemed to crumble a bit as Dean raised his eyebrows in his familiar: are you kidding me stare, Castiel what is wrong with you?  
“Goodbye trench coat, hello suits!” The Doctor sang, as he rummaged around for a box, adorn with clothes of all types. Dean grimaced, as Castiel pulled out a fez, examining it with a smile, before sneakily placing it underneath his trench coat. “Have you got any changing rooms Doctor?” Dean hissed, suddenly feeling uncomfortable as the angel began to shed his outer layers of clothing. “Yes, through the corridor to your right, there should be a room you can use. But don’t take the left door!”  
“What’s in the left door?” Sam asked, trying to pick through the trunk to find a suit his size, which proved to be a very trying task.  
“Trust me you don’t want to know.” 

“We can’t go in as FBI, we haven’t got any IDs on us,” Sam pointed out, following the Doctor through the double doors. He was sweating already, and his suit felt too tight. He buttons were close to bursting. Dean gave him a nervous glance, his sharp eyes able to detect Sam’s unhealthy sheen. He was going to ask, but decided to keep his mouth shut. Sam wasn’t keeping secrets. “No need.” The Doctor gave a grin of satisfaction, distributing pieces of paper. “Follow my lead.” He said under his breath as he addressed the receptionist. “Health and safety inspectors, we’re here to investigate the hospital records.” He held up the paper and the rest of them followed his lead.  
The man at the desk smirked. “You’ll be the third lot this month. There’s nothing wrong with the records.” The man rocked back in his chair. “Everywhere else, death rates are going up, you hear all these news of storms, but nothing here. No one’s dying these days. Heretics are calling this hospital blessed. Crazy isn’t it?”  
“I wouldn’t be one to dismiss that theory so quickly.” Castiel immediately answered. Dean gave him a look of disapproval.  
“He has a weird sense of humour.”  
“Don’t we all.” The man said, smiling.  
“Would you mind if we interviewed some of your patients, and could you please give my friend Sherlock copies of some of your hospital data dating back to when the death counts were at a normal rate?”  
“Surely you already have copies of the data, if your board sent you down here?”  
“We’d like to compare external and internal sources, just to make sure that everything’s accurate.” Sherlock quickly replied with a smile.  
“Well, I’ll get the papers printed out for you right away sir, just let me take this call.”  
Sherlock smiled again, the man looked away, seeming to be a bit intimidated. “I’ll catch up with you later John when I have the results.” 

The Doctor grinned to himself, amused by his own private joke.  
“You have got to tell me where you got this paper from, it’s brilliant!”  
“Give it back to me, it’s dangerous to have equipment from the future.”  
Dean raised an eyebrow, expression sullen as he handed his over. Sam looked over to Dean, as he passed the Doctor, his and Castiel’s pieces of physic paper, tilting his head slightly towards and back from the Doctor, communicating that he was obviously going to pickpocket the Doctor when this was over. Dean couldn’t help but grin. Wasn’t Sam full of surprises? 

The Doctor quickly read the signs, deciding to go down the terminally ill ward. “Some of these patients may still have been here from when this all started.” He activated his screwdriver. A nurse pushing a trolley gave him an odd stare. “New equipment. It makes sure there’s no asbestos in the walls. Prototype. Have a nice day!” He called after her, which she blatantly ignored.  
“You okay Sam?” Dean asked.  
“Yeah, I’m fine. It’s just a headache.” Sam said, pressing his fingers to his temples.  
“It’s never just anything with you Sam.” Dean said gritting his teeth, turning to the Doctor and asking “Can your sonic screwdriver pick up anything celestial?”  
“Yes.” The Doctor said, pointing it at Castiel. “But he’s blocking my signal readings, I keep getting Castiel. And there seems to be other angels in the building.”  
“Where?” Dean asked, trying to keep it nonchalant.  
“No idea, and I wouldn’t give you that information anyway. I’d advise you keep an eye on him Castiel.” The Doctor paused, tucking his screwdriver back into his blazer. “This looks interesting.” The Doctor gave a small wave to the boy sat upright in his hospital bed, arms crossed, looking bored, as he watched the Television. An IV tube was inserted into his arm. “Hello!” The Doctor chirped, waving.  
“Are you here for another blood test?” He asked, irritated. “It’s been weeks, like everyone else in this hospital I’m cured.”  
“Well, we’re investigating that. What were you cured of apparently?” He asked, wandering around the room. The boy gave him a peculiar stare as he waved his screwdriver around the room. He seemed to choose to ignore this.  
“Well, I was born with congenital heart disease that wasn’t picked up on until a few months ago, where I got serious pains in my chest after playing a game of football. We come here, see a few specialists, got put on some drugs and had an operation, which failed, because I had another. Get to the hospital, couple of days pass and the doctors can’t find anything wrong with my heart.” The boy sighed, rubbing his eyes. “They’re still keeping me under observation, but there was a kid in the next ward, who had been in an accident, and the nurses could just tell they weren’t going to make it. A few hours pass, and they’re fully conscious, a few hours and their wounds had started to heal.”  
“Sounds like they were lucky.”  
“It’s not just them. It’s everyone who comes here. The doctors and the nurses are trying to keep it on the down low, because no one dies here. They just get miracles.”  
“Sounds almost too good to be true.” Sam mused, his mouth tasting metallic. His head was pounding.  
“Were you visited by any apparitions?” Castiel questioned, “Or hear any rumours of such things…” He went quiet, as Dean shook his head at him, but the Doctor simply grinned.  
“I don’t know what it is, but as I said, call it God or whatever, but people get cured here, where otherwise they’d have died. Have you got any more questions? I’m missing my TV show.”  
“Can we talk to your mum or dad?” Sam asked, trying to play the part with a notepad and pen.  
“My mum’s off getting Chinese, dad’s at work. They might finally be letting me come home today. I’ll have to see it to believe it.”  
“Well your mum has good taste,” Dean glanced up at the television smiling, “Much like your good choice in cartoons.”  
“Thanks. It’s better than watching the news twenty four seven. It’s getting depressing.”  
“I bet it is buddy.” Dean murmured. “Well, see you, enjoy your Chinese.”  
“Wait!” He called after Dean, giving Castiel and the Doctor wary looks. “This isn’t some weird secret agent stuff is it?”  
“Don’t ask questions you don’t want to know the answers to. See you around man.” Dean remarked with a sly smile, stepping outside of the door. “Who’s next on the list to freak out?”  
“Next door.”  
“The boy did not seem disturbed.” Castiel said, frowning as he looked at the ground, deep in contemplation. He was still trying to grasp the idea of good social conduct but he’d thought the process had gone well.  
“Trust me, he was.” Dean assured him.


End file.
